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Eve 6d
i was working a shift
waitressing in town,
my stare kept getting stuck
across the street on a sign,
“my lord” it says
and i read it on repeat,
while the restaurant was filled
with faces and a beat
it was a busy day
but a sense of peace nonetheless,
then some words stood out
among all the rest
“my lord!” beamed a woman,
in a polka dotted dress

there was no devision,
between me and all the rest,
peace had been laid upon us,
and planted in our chests

just the day after
i was working another shift
again my stare kept getting stuck
across the street on the sign
“my lord” it says
and i read it on repeat
while the restaurant got filled
with people and a beat
another busy day
but the sense of peace felt less,
then came the words
that stood out among the rest
“my lord!” cried a woman,
with the sound of distress

and for the day,
there was no devision
between me and all the rest,
peace had left us,
though the day was as blessed

did the air feel different,
or were the winds too stressed?
did our feet walk out of rythm,
to the beat of all our chests?
or did only one wake up,
heavy hearted,
lonelier than the rest?
we’re more connected
than we think,
though the scene’s stay the same
our insides stay linked
“my lord”
i think,
staring across the street,
the words shimmering,
with an undeniable blink
why do you think everyone can collectively feel completely different from another day though the day’s the same?
Deng Ater Jun 27
In the halls of my mind I walk as I ponder,
Over things that trouble me, big and small,
Over things that tear me asunder;
As though I was made for this toll.

And I burn and melt and boil with these:
The fancily named; dyslexia and schizophrenia,
Even the owned one; Parkinson's disease,
For they make me succumb to insomnia.

And as I struggle with this jumble
Of emotion and thought that conflict within,
In and out of reality I stumble
And only stop when I'm at my mind's end.

Will my intellect stay firm or will it crumble?
My sanity is a thing I always question and contemplate.
"It'll all be fine!" To myself I mumble.
Hopefully, one day, I will be out of this state!
Ria Jun 7
If God is up there
I wonder what he thinks
I wonder why he messed up my face
And made my mother cry
And why he sent that evil boy to my house
And why he took my grandfather
Despite everything
I wonder why he filled my heart with so much love
And why he made the boy I love so much the boy I cannot be with
are people born broken
that's what I ask myself

sure, there are always people
who have been traumatized
who have been beaten down
and turned into monsters
to the point of no return
where they inflict the torture
they've endured onto others

but can they be born evil
already a monster from the womb
have a beautiful life
or at least a good life
with a loving family
and still turn out messed up
can you abuse and torture others
for the fun of it
with no reason why you do what you do
Bekah Halle May 11
Good and bad —
Light and darkness —
Day and night —
I've tried to be divine,
And I've run from evil,
Or so it seemed...

But the evil within me —
Wouldn't leave;
I pray,
I repent,
I accept shame
as my cloak;
I shrivel the goodness
Unseen...

I split,
Disconnect;
Become a kaleidoscope
of regret.
Days lost
in a fruitless
quest —

Isn't it easier
to just
Embrace the evil within me?!
Is that love?
Loving evil;
Heaven's dove?
Or is that truly absurd?!

This poem has already
Gone on, way too long,
But since I have run
from evil so strong,
Turning towards
loses its terror.

In some ways, the practice of reflection is so freeing - coming face to face with myself and instead of freezing, I hold the mirror up and embrace the ugly, broken parts.
Theo Apr 10
Am I set aside or isolated,
Like a little girl among trees?
Taught to fear the Bad Wolf,
Through my grandmother's stories.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like grain of sand in an hourglass?
Put away for display,
Only purposeful while it lasts.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like succulent in a condo?
Deprived of sun, drowned in water,
Bought for someone else's sorrow.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like a bird with clipped wings?
I have feathers, I could sing,
But was never meant for soaring.

Am I set aside or isolated?
Now I'm pondering in despair.
They say I'm meant for something great,
But not allowed to do better.

"The bad wolf, it'll **** me."
"Outside the glass, I'd be blown away."
"The pretty sun, it might scorch me."
"In my safe bird cage, I'll watch... but stay."
-Goat Feb 27
A splitroad lies forth
As I gander north
Will I make it east
Or have i not seen the least

The limbo hides the fork
Same as I've always thought
Now will I reach for the gun
Now that I'm no longer numb
Am I even religious? I ask myself.
Am I spiritual? I ponder.
Feudal, socialist, capitalist, fascist?
Hmmm.
Am I more over here,
Or more over there?
What's my hereditary, what specific mix;
Where exactly am I from?
From where did my family come,
Where have we been?
What did we take part in?

It's interesting,
But where are we going?
What's the heading?
OmRh Sep 2024
On weekends, I usually indulge in mundane pastimes in which life duties have no bearing.
Going on leisurely walks, watching films, or making acquaintances. Ah, the art of living!
On most weekdays, however, I often find myself drowning in murky and troubled waters.
Where expectations and obligations gather in a swarm, taking on sharklike features
Striking after telltale signs of surrender. Leaving trails of existential horrors in their wake.

What would it take to flee and veer off the current course? I’d then sit and ponder.
To chase after rosy-deemed dreams made entirely of garments, needles, and thread.
Confiding in parents amidst the chaos is also a proven futile effort because —
‘You’d outgrow your fleeting obsessions,’ is what they always confidently mutter.
Opening room for more doubt and despair to barge in with a loud clatter.

But I learned to hide my biting resentment underneath layers of feigned indifference.
Mastered the craft of walking in confident strides and etching on saccharine smiles.
Because what good comes from performing a Shakespearean tragedy before prying eyes?
However, when the game of play-pretend becomes taxing, and patience starts wearing thin
I seek refuge in my bedroom vicinity, where I freely entertain the blood-spattered what-if musings.
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